


Moonlit Dreams

by Nilozot



Category: Flowers in the Attic - V. C. Andrews
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Chris POV, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:35:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8289263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nilozot/pseuds/Nilozot
Summary: One sweltering summer night, Chris and Cathy finally give in.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



Despite the sweltering heat, Chris squirmed under the bedding, willing himself not to roll over again. He didn’t want to make too obvious to Cathy that he was awake, or risk waking up the little ones sprawled half-naked on top of their own cramped beds across the tiny room. Cathy was hiding under a sheet and pretending to sleep too, for much the same indecent reason he was. They were all disobeying Grandmother’s standing orders to some degree that night, but her demands — no windows open, no noise, no nudity, no _looking_ at each other for Heaven’s sake — were perennially impossible, especially when the temperature climbed to baking range in the summer. So when the sun went down and even spying old witches couldn’t see, they opened the windows and the door leading to the attic to create what pitiful draft was possible, stripped to their underwear, wiped the twins down with damp rags, and fanned billowing clothes and soft songs over their bodies until they drifted off.

Nobody was left to put Chris and Cathy to bed, however, so they had to find their own methods of falling asleep.

Chris could hear her breathing speeding up, and released a long controlled breath of his own in response. If he strained he could barely make out a faint rocking, but she was getting better all the time at doing it with the absolute minimum of movements. Female anatomy, occasionally it was an advantage. He imagined her stroking herself in tight controlled circles, maybe gliding her other hand up to pinch or pull at the luscious breasts that he’d seen so many times straining out of her wrinkled braless blouses. He imagined her plying her fingertips at her entrance where a lot of the nerve endings ran, stretching herself or maybe just plunging in. He tried to imagine what it felt like to have all that pleasure concentrated into a small area, or on the inside instead of the out. Perversely, he tried to think of her, and ignore himself.

The images in his mind were pulled straight from the “Human Anatomy” medical illustration textbook that Mama had brought him last Christmas: the expensive edition, with full-color plates. Chris’ wandering teenage mind did the best he could with it, or the worst depending on your sanctimonious point of view. Some part of him couldn’t decide whether Mama would be appalled or not. That story she told them two long years ago — about how Daddy was her uncle, about how they both knew it and chose to run off together anyway — haunted Chris more than he’d expected when they’d sat there in stunned fascination at the time. He thought about it constantly, as if the he and his sister really were cursed by some demon to relive old sin again and again. Chris didn’t believe in Grandmother’s superstitious nonsense, but on nights like these, when he couldn’t help craving even the little slips of moans to fuel his fantasies, it did seem like a malevolent being clawing at his back.

Chris slid his own hand down underneath himself to grip his member poking down into the mattress, and then halted there, unwilling to move any more. It was enough to gently rub himself with his thumb, feel tiny pulses of pleasure to remind him he was alive, but which didn’t go anywhere. But that faint rustling apparently alerted her that he was listening, and Cathy suddenly stopped. They both lay there for a few lingering heartbeats, neither one breathing or willing to acknowledge the awkward awareness of the other person.

Cathy gave in first, and Chris heard her roll out of bed and pad towards him in the utter darkness. They both knew the prison room down to the inch, and could navigate it in the night as well as any person blind from birth. She rested her hand on his back and curled her fingers in, their voiceless signal to go out onto the roof. Even in the small movements of her fingertips, she had a dancer’s grace. Chris didn’t bother to feign waking up, but pushed himself upright and followed her the seven paces from his bed to the stairs. He adjusted the erection as he walked, hoping it wouldn’t be too obvious in his boxers in dim starlight. Even Cathy in her frequent little-girl naivety had to know what that meant.

Up in the main attic they had to use a flashlight, left strategically at the top of the stairs. The anatomy of the attic changed daily from the twins’ play, so it wasn’t as easy to memorize as their sterile bedroom. Nevertheless it only took a bit of light to make it through the musty classroom to the only windows accessible in the attic, through which they could climb out onto the mansion’s back roof.

There they lay out among the shimmering solstice stars. It was the only place Chris sensed he was free, and from Cathy’s relaxed smile as she leaned back, he suspected she felt the same. From this vantage point, far above their hated grandparents’ estate, above the forest and train and glow of some unknown Virginia village beyond the horizon, escape finally seemed possible. Another life was waiting for them out there, if only they were brave enough to climb down the extra thirty feet and walk towards it.

Chris never wanted to make love to Cathy more than in the sparkling air of the roof. For that he felt the most guilt of all, for it was supposed to be the one place they tasted normalcy. In the stifling attic it wasn’t too surprising that he let his mind drift to obscene escape, but out here, so close to the ordinary world, he should have the strength to be her proper brother again. Their father-replacement at only sixteen, as much as he hated the thought. It took every ounce of strength, day by long day, to assume that paternal role, instead of giving in to his base desires and pinning his sister to a wall. He wondered if this was how Father had felt, trapped in this very same dreary house with his golden niece, trying to push down lust and longing and that shredded wound in his soul left by dead and disloving parents. Father could have chosen to walk away though, go back to being poor and free of all family entanglements, pure, while Chris would give up his own life and sanity before abandoning his siblings. All they had left was each other, and Chris would never be able to walk away from his forbidden love.

He shifted again, painfully trapping his engorged cock between his legs. Penance of a sort, maybe Grandmother would actually approve of his torture in her awful way. The prurient were always the most obsessed with sin. Beside him Cathy stared up at the shimmering clear sky, oblivious to his discomfort.

“We have to leave,” she said abruptly, for the hundredth time on this roof. Cathy had always been the one to make the hard line to run, even at the beginning. “We should just blindfold them and lower them down and go. Mama is going to leave us up here to rot, you know. Even an orphanage has to be better than this.”

“Or they might just ship us back here, and then Mama’s plan will be ruined forever,” Chris shot back. They’d repeated this argument so many times.

“Let it be ruined,” Cathy hissed. “Let her be humiliated in public and forced to be a mother again, even if we have no money. Her _plan_ is enjoy life as an heiress while her precious children whither away. Can’t you see that she doesn’t love us anymore?”

The words stabbed at Chris’s heart. It was the real reason they never left; he still loved Mama, and wasn’t willing to give up on her yet. But a creeping part of him knew Cathy was right. They were the twins’ parents now, and if they waited much longer, irrevocable damage to their psyches might occur, if it hadn’t already. Animals reared in captivity had an appalling tendency to die.

Cathy rolled to her side and curled next to him in his confused silence. He leaned into her and buried his face into her hair, relishing the rare touch.

“Do you love me, Christopher Doll?” Cathy murmured below his head. He could feel her breath through the thin shirt onto his chest.

“What kind of question is that?” Chris retorted. “Of course I do.”

Her laying half on top of him made him harder than ever, but he couldn’t draw attention to himself now. Even though Chris would have liked nothing more than to stay here in this position all night, he’d need to shove her away soon. Her breasts alone, squished up against his side, were enough to push him over.

“Do you think I love you too?”

She shifted a leg on top of his, and suddenly Chris realized that it had to be a deliberate provocation. Cathy wasn’t _that_ innocent. Even if she was fuzzy on the details, she had access to all the same textbooks he did. Maybe she was just as pent up and frustrated as he was.

“Stop,” he whispered. “Cathy, you’ve got to stop, I can’t…” Chris trailed off, but made no effort to roll her off his body. It felt good, just as good as touching himself earlier, but accompanied by such awful guilt that it seemed he might decay back into the wood shingles beneath his back. What were they doing to each other? He’d _ruined_ her.

Cathy propped herself up on an elbow to stare at him, and then in one fluid movement rolled herself all the way up to sitting position on top of his waist. Her wetness soaked through both their pairs of underwear. He groaned, and then cut off the sound as soon as it emerged from his throat.

“I don’t want to stop,” Cathy said. She lifted up slightly with her strong thighs, then shifted down against him again while transfixed on his face, as if testing his reaction. “To Hell with the rules. To Hell with Mama. To Hell with us, it’s where we’re going anyway. Doomed little demon children who never should have been born. Out here in the fresh air, nothing is real.”

“Cathy, we can’t…” Chris repeated, but it was a hopeless plea. He’d never force her to stop.

“I know you can hear me. Don’t you know that I know? Don’t you know that I listen to you, and dream of you too? Sometimes I dream about being louder, just to see what you’ll do.”

She reached down and tugged her nightshirt — his old undershirt, washed threadbare — over her head. And now it was Chris’s turn to stare, without furtive glances for once. Her breasts were round and soft with rosy nipples in the middle — exactly how he pictured them, and just as beautiful as he’d ever wanted. He rolled a fingertip over one of the nipples, and her breathing hitched in a long exhale. Cathy leaned over his head in invitation, and he craned his head up to let it slide into his mouth.

“Just once, then we’ll go back to being good,” Cathy gasped. She was rocking herself hard now down the length his stomach, down to his desperate cock that was practically sliding out of his boxers and back up again. She curled an arm above his head, tightening like a wrench, and in response he sucked harder on that luscious tit. “God, yes. Once, just once, make me feel good, not like a dirty horrible forgotten thing.”

They’d both feel that way in the morning, Chris knew, but at that moment he couldn’t begin to care. The soft skin of her back and the promise of relief were enough for a lifetime of regret. She’d slid up his body enough to free him, so he traced his hand down her back and slipped his underwear down. He reached up to do the same with hers, but she batted his hand away, yanked the soaking fabric to one side, and pushed down hard on top of him.

“Don’t stop,” she kept murmuring, and he couldn’t tell if she meant the breast or the sex. It was such a distraction to keep up both, though, that he let the nipple go, and wrapped his arms around her to pin her body down on top of him and pull those golden curls onto his face. He was so close anyway it was a struggle to keep moving, push her to feel as good as he did, and even better. Chris owed her that for losing control so thoroughly, for taking her virginity, for endangering her body with pregnancy and both of their souls with damnation. But still he obeyed, and didn’t stop.

They moved together so hard that Chris began to shake from holding himself back. Just at the point he couldn’t take it anymore, right at the final skirting of the edge, she cried out into his shoulder, and shuddered hard one last time down on top of him. Some last remaining bit of reproductive logic in his brain clicked, and he pulled out just before he came too.

Chris half-expected her to cry afterward, or create some equally dramatic scene. But his sister didn’t. They lay there in the gleaming moonlight for a minute or two, catching their breath, covered in evidence for their sin, but still they didn’t move from each other's arms. Finally Cathy tightened her grip on his neck and whispered,

“We’ve got to leave, Christopher Dollanganger. We’ve already turned into them. Don’t you see? Just like them.”

He did see. Clearly now, out in the starlight to the horizon.

 


End file.
